AMONG THE WaTER-FowL 
the crest curls, and the avalanche descends. But 
that very instant the wary creature leaps at the 
intruder. The knife-like bill cleaves a way, and in 
a moment there rides the Loon safe on the other 
side. 
Here is yet another picture. - Whe. coldieenay 
dawn of a November morning breaks over the 
misty, heaving sea. My boat is anchored quarter 
of a mile from shore. Very dim, as yet, appear the 
blufts of Manomet, and below them the rocks, piled 
there by the Titanic forces of the winters’ gales. 
From the north comes the bellow of the whistling- 
buoy “off ““the Gurnet,” at the entrance» of eld 
Plymouth harbour. The fishermen, one by one, 
are rowing out past in their dories to haul their 
lobster-pots and to fish for cod, every hail of theirs 
made audible by the megaphone of the mist. The 
gunners, too, are taking their station in the line 
that custom decrees shall begin at “the gunning- 
rock,” and the plunge of anchors and the rattling 
of chains is heard. Presently the whistling of wings 
makes me look up, to see gray forms that rapidly 
pass into the haze. Soon there arises a series of 
wild, laughter-like cries, weird sounds indeed, yet 
fitting perfectly with the surroundings. Nearer 
they come, and nearer, but it seems like minutes 
before I see one, two, three great birds, with long 
necks widely outstretched, and feet extended rudder- 
like behind, rapidly advancing, a hundred feet 
above the water, straight toward the boat. If they 
come on, they are safe, for I have no desire to hurt 
them. But if they swerve and cross the line at 
another point, the peal of guns will ring out, and 
40 
